Memorare
by singingcagedbird
Summary: They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die. Not all of it does, though; just the most important memories. One-shot.


Jack remembered the first time he'd met her. He'd been ten, and just rescued by Evelyn from the foster care system; she'd been nine, and had been living with a family down the road for three years. She was sitting in the tree in the front yard, bare feet dangling over a branch that had to be 12 feet off the ground. Evelyn had just helped him out of the car when she jumped down, landing right in front of him. He'd fallen backwards, right into Evelyn's legs.

"Kayla Elizabeth Adams, is that any way to greet a guest?" Evelyn had scolded. "You apologize, right now."

"Sorry," the girl grinned, the gap between her front teeth turning the 's' into a 'th'. "Want to climb the tree with me?"

"He doesn't want to play with a _girl_," an older boy jeered, leaning out the front door. He came over, brushing the younger girl to the side.

"Stop being mean, Jeremiah," the girl demanded, stomping her foot. "He can play with whoever he wants."

"Go play with your dolls, Kayla," a second boy sneered.

"I don't _like_ dolls," Kayla retorted, emphasizing her dislike by shoving him in the chest. She turned back to Jack, smiling. "I'm Kayla, but you can call me Kay. I don't like dolls and I don't like dresses, so don't listen to them."

"I'm Jack," he'd replied quietly, overwhelmed by her energy.

"Nice to meet you," Kayla chirped. "So do you want to come climb the tree with me?"

"Nah, come play baseball," a third boy suggested, joining them. "I'm Bobby. That's Jeremiah, and the one Kayla shoved is Angel."

"O—okay," Jack remembered stuttering, following the boys.

"Mama Evelyn, why can't you bring back a girl next time?" he'd heard her ask, sniffling.

"Kayla, the boys let you play with them most of the time," Evelyn reminded her. "You even told me that they got your lunch money back from the boy who stole it from you last week. You know they take care of you; they just need some boy time every now and then."

"Okay, Mama Evelyn," Kayla had replied reluctantly. Jack had glanced over his shoulder, feeling bad that she was being left behind.

"Kayla!" someone down the road screeched. "Kayla, you get home right now!"

"Who's that?" Jack asked, piping up for the first time. "The girl, and the yelling lady? Does the girl live here?"

"Who, Kayla?" Bobby asked. "Nah, she lives down the street. She's not bad, for a girl. The yelling lady is her mom, Mrs. Adams. She's real mean—she hits Kayla. But nobody does nothing, because the social workers don't care and Mrs. Adams agreed to keep Kayla anyway."

"But doesn't Mrs. Mercer do anything?" Jack had asked in reply.

"Mama Evelyn doesn't know," Bobby shrugged. "Kayla won't tell nobody. We tease her a lot, but we don't let nobody at school hurt her, 'cause she gets enough of that at home. So be nice to her."

"Okay," Jack remembered saying. And then Kayla was gone.

* * *

Jack remembered the first time he'd seen Kayla's mother. Kayla had just turned ten, and refused to take off the dollar-store charm bracelet the boys had given her for her birthday; he had been eleven, and just discovering the magic of music. Kayla's room was a small, dim one in the basement. There was a tiny cot in the corner, flanked by a desk on one side and a bookshelf on the other. He hadn't seen any other part of the house; Kayla had climbed in the basement window.

"The front door is for Mother's real children," Kayla had informed him. "Mother doesn't want the neighbors to see me. She lets me eat dinner with them upstairs, though. Sometimes."

"Is that why you come over and eat with us?" Jack asked, masking his anger with a quiet smile.

"Yes," Kayla replied quietly, fingering the heart charm on her bracelet. "She doesn't know. She doesn't care where I am, as long as I come home when the social workers check on us." She picked up the deck of cards they'd come back for. "Let's go, before she comes back."

"Kayla!" someone yelled. Kayla flinched, pushing Jack to hide under the bed as she heard footsteps on the wooden stairs. The woman who turned the corner was younger than Mama Evelyn, and she looked more like a beauty queen than a mother.

"Yes, Mother?" Kayla whispered, looking down.

"The kitchen is filthy," she was informed. "If it's not clean by the time I come back from the salon, you'll spend this week cleaning the whole house from attic to basement."

"But I have school—" Kayla started. The woman lunged forward, slapping Kayla so hard she fell from the bed and hit the ground. Jack could see her shaking, but didn't move.

"No backtalk," she hissed. "I'll teach you to disrespect me." She stood over Kayla for a moment, and Kayla lay motionless on the floor until she left.

"You should go home," she whispered, still curled in the fetal position on the floor. Jack squirmed out from under the bed, sitting awkwardly behind her. "Go home, Jack."

"I'll help you clean," he offered.

"No," Kayla replied quietly, rising slowly to her feet without looking at him. "You can take the cards. I'll see you tomorrow."

And Jack had left, slowly and reluctantly, but he had left nonetheless.

* * *

Jack remembered the first time he'd seen her unashamed of herself. Kayla had been fourteen, and had entered a local art contest; he'd been fifteen, and had just bought his first guitar. Her painting of a sunrise over a lake had won second prize, and her simple charcoal sketch of the tree in their front yard had won first.

"Did you see my pencil sketchbook yet?" Kayla had asked, her smile brighter and truer than he'd ever seen it. Jack shook his head, and she handed it over. "It won best overall."

"What's in it?" he'd asked.

"My family," she'd replied simply. He opened the sketchbook, seeing her self-portrait on the first page. Hands covered her portrait-self's mouth and ears, but the eyes were filled with images of fire and anger, and a tear was frozen in time on one cheek. The next page held a sketch of Bobby, hockey stick held high as though about to slapshot, his face full of determination and drive.

"I drew that one at Thanksgiving," she informed him. "From the tree in your yard—best seat in the house."

"It's amazing," Jack murmured, seeing Angel and Sofi in a tender moment on the next page. Angel looked the softest he ever had, holding Sofi gently. Jeremiah's portrait showed him at the dining table, brow furrowed as he leafed through schoolwork. Evelyn was at the stove in hers, bending meticulously over one of her ever-ready pots of soup. There was love and tenderness even in her pencil-captured form, and Jack smiled unconsciously.

"There's one more," Kayla indicated, turning the last page for him. Jack looked down at a sketch of himself, sitting at the pace of the same tree she'd sketched in charcoal to win the first prize. His hands were placed carefully on the strings of the guitar in his lap, with his legs sprawled carelessly in front of him. Several locks of hair strayed into his eyes, but his eyes were focused and he bit his lip in concentration. "The judges said I captured who the subjects were, not just what they were doing."

"Kay, this is amazing," Jack murmured. "Did you show Mama Evelyn?"

"She wants to frame them as soon as the show is over," Kayla replied, blushing. "She says I'm saying what I can't in words."

"It's beautiful," Jack said firmly. "You should be proud." Kayla looked at him oddly, eyes over-bright.

"For the first time, I am," she had realized, and Jack had never smiled so proudly.

* * *

Jack remembered the first time he'd kissed her. Kayla had been sixteen, with too-old eyes in a too-young face; he'd been seventeen, and, having just started a band, thought himself the hottest thing since sliced bread. Kayla's hair was streaked with royal blue highlights, and she had persuaded a friend's older brother to tattoo her drawing of a phoenix rising on her ribcage. Jack lazed against the trunk of the oak tree, seated in the crook of the lowest branch; Kayla lay on the same branch, wearing jeans and a t-shirt despite the heat.

"So am I ever going to get to see this mysterious tattoo?" Jack drawled. Kayla sighed, wriggling upright and raising the hem of her shirt, kneeling on his level in front of him. The tattoo began at her right hip, with leaping flames that stretched to the base of her ribcage. The phoenix itself was crimson and gold, winding about her torso sinuously with outstretched wings. Jack traced the outline with curious fingers, and Kayla shivered. Slowly, carefully, Jack slid his hand along her side, feeling the creamy softness of her skin over the curves of her torso. When he reached her hips, he stopped, looking up at her for permission. Kayla gave it with a soft smile, and he pulled her close until she straddled his lap. She looked at him, eyes wide and trusting, and he kissed her, clumsy and sweet and perfect, and the leaf-strewn sunlight dappled them cool and green under the sky.

* * *

Jack remembered the last time he'd seen Kayla. She had been 17 and the epitome of the girl next door; he had been 18 and sure that nothing could ever separate them. He had aged out of the system, but had a steady job as the lead guitarist of a house band downtown and a room over the bar. As soon as she was 18, she was going to join him.

They sat beneath what they considered their tree. Kayla's bare legs dangled lay across the grass as she reclined against him, resting securely against his chest, eyes closed. His hand traced lazy circles on her thigh, his lips resting gently against her shoulder.

"I love you," he murmured softly, and the corners of her mouth turned up.

"I love you, too," she replied, arching her neck and turning so that she could kiss him, soft and sweet.

"I wanted to play something for you," Jack told her, grabbing his guitar. Kayla sat up slowly, crossing her legs as she turned to face him. Jack looked straight at her as he played, his eyes dark blue in the setting sun. The song he chose was Elton John's "Your Song," and his voice drifted rich and low across the grass. Kayla closed her eyes once more, swaying gently back and forth. "Anyway—the thing is—what I really mean—yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen." Kayla opened her eyes, startled, as he stopped playing, only to see that he had placed his guitar on the ground once more and was kneeling before her, an opened box in his hands. The ring inside was plain silver and nothing more, but her eyes shone as brightly as any diamonds when she looked up at him.

"Yes," she whispered, and her smile nearly split her face. "Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes!" Jack slid the ring on her finger, pulling her close. "When?" she asked simply.

"I was thinking June 13th," he replied, tracing the lines on her palm. "That was the day I was part of my first family—Evelyn's. I want that to be the start of our family, too."

"That's a week away," Kayla remarked, but she smiled. "I'll wear my prom dress. Will your brothers and Mama Evelyn come?"

"Of course," Jack replied, surprised. "Actually, I think Angel and Jeremiah had a bet going as to whether you'd say yes."

"Nah, I bet against both of them," Bobby called, leaning heavily against the screen door. Jack glared at him.

"Have you been listening the whole time?" he demanded.

"Nope," Bobby replied unrepentantly. "I was only watching up until she said yes. Then I started listening."

"Bobby—" Jack started, annoyed. Kayla placed her hand on his arm, distracting him.

"He's just jealous," she whispered, leaning forward slowly, teasingly. Her lips lingered on his, and she parted them to allow him access to her mouth. Bobby groaned and slammed the door behind him as he went inside, and Kayla pulled back, grinning.

"You're devious, and I love it," Jack informed her. "Let's go. Dinner should be ready by now."

"Did I hear good news?" Evelyn called as they entered. "Will at least one of these boys be made an honest man of?" Kayla laughed, squeezing Jack's hand.

"I had hoped to ask a favor of you, actually," she began. "I—you know that I don't consider the Adams to be my family, and I was wondering if you might—would you give me away at the ceremony?" Evelyn set down the platter in her hands slowly, drawing Kayla into a warm hug.

"I would be honored to," she replied, wiping away a tear. "Now, come eat." Kayla looked down awkwardly.

"The social worker wants one more visit before I'm eighteen, and she's coming tonight," she said reluctantly. "I have to be there."

"Well, you're more than welcome for dessert later," Evelyn promised. "Go on, dear. I don't want you to get in trouble."

"Be safe," Jack whispered, kissing Kayla swiftly before she left. Kayla smiled, blushing, and closed the door behind her.

"Jackie-boy's getting married," Bobby teased.

"Shut up," Jack muttered, though he grinned. "And pass the ham."

Dinner passed slowly, and Jack found himself looking out the window every few moments, waiting to see Kayla. Instead, not two hours later, he saw ambulances and police cars flooding the block, all parking in front of the Adams' house. Without a word to anyone else, he shoved his chair away from the table, striding out of the house and down the block. A lazy-looking cop waited at the edge of the blockade.

"What's going on?" Jack asked, impatient. "What are the ambulances for?"

"Oh, there's no use for them anyway," the cop replied. "The medical examiner should be here for the body soon, though."

"What body?" he demanded, an icy-cold chill creeping down his spine. His voice rose, nearly cracking. "What happened?" The cop looked at him, surprised.

"Some foster kid died," he answered, shrugging. "Katherine, or Katie, or something like that. Fell down the stairs, but somebody cracked her ribs first, and the internal bleeding did her in. Just another foster, though, so the investigation shouldn't take too long. Probably associated with all kinds of riff-raff. Some gang most likely did it."

It took all of Jack's strength not to haul back and flatten the cop, and he clenched his fists tightly.

"Please," he said slowly, through gritted teeth. "Can you remember her name?"

"Katherine, Katie—no, I got it," the cop replied offhandedly. "Kayla. Kayla Adams." Jack staggered backwards, eyes distant and dead. "You okay, kid?"

Jack didn't answer, turning slowly and stumbling down the road.

He didn't remember getting in his car, or driving back to his apartment, or the set he performed that night. The alcohol he drank that night kept him from remembering the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that. When his alcohol ran out, he packed up everything without a word and left town, and never looked back. There were plenty of women he found—they were suckers for a wandering musician with a sweet face and a sweeter voice. There was a different one every night, and he never remembered any of their names. He did everything he could to forget. Sometimes it worked; sometimes it didn't.

* * *

Jack remembered the first time he saw Kayla again. She was radiant and ethereal, wearing her favorite jeans and t-shirt, a soft smile on her face and his ring on her finger; he was bloody, breathing raggedly as Bobby wept and Angel raged and Jeremiah froze over him, scared and not at all ready to die.

"Want to go climb the tree with me?" she asked, repeating the first words she'd ever spoken to him. She knelt next to him, taking his hand.

"I can't go play baseball?" he managed hoarsely, coughing frantically. Kayla shook her head slowly, still smiling.

"It's your time, Bobby," she said softly. "And it's not theirs. Not yet."

"I don't want to leave them," Jack whispered, struggling for breath. "I'm not ready."

"I didn't want to leave you," Kayla whispered gently, stroking his forehead. "I never wanted to leave you. But it was my time, and now it's yours."

"I tried to forget you," Jack gasped, his voice a thin, weary hiss. "I tried—I fought—what I did—"

"I love you," she said simply, bending down to kiss him. "Nothing more, nothing less. Come home with me."

"Evelyn—" he started.

"Your brothers will get justice for her," Kayla promised. "And Evelyn is waiting for you. For us."

"Us?" Jack whispered, disbelieving. "After everything—after every_one_—I did—you still—" Kayla looked down.

"I should never have assumed," she said quietly, more to herself than to him. "But I've been sent to bring you to Heaven, at least. I won't bother you after that." She turned away, seemingly waiting for him to respond. Dimly, he realized that he had stopped breathing, and looked around frantically as he stepped out of his body. He flexed his fingers, rolling his wrists experimentally, and his eyes widened. "Just follow me." Jack caught Kayla's wrist as she turned to lead him away, and she turned back. She looked down quickly, trying to hide her tears.

"I didn't know angels could cry," he replied, using the pad of his thumb to dry them.

"I'm no angel," she whispered.

"Good," Jack said firmly, and Kayla looked up. "Because I don't know the rules on marrying angels, and I believe we're still owed a wedding." Kayla looked at him slowly, searching his eyes.

"You still want—" she started. He silenced her with a soft, deep kiss that left them both gasping, and Kayla smiled radiantly.

"You're the only one I ever have, and the only one I ever will," he promised tenderly, taking her hand. Before them, the sky seemed to open, revealing a brilliant light.

"Are you ready?" Kayla asked. Jack took a deep breath, pulling her close.

"Yes," he replied, nodding, and the light washed over them, and they were gone.

* * *

A/N: So this is my first fic up here--please be nice! This is also the first Four Brothers fic I've written, and I hope it didn't turn out too badly. Reviews are welcome; flames are not.


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